One For The Monet, Two For The Show
by rocklynn
Summary: Belker and Washington take on two crooked art dealers. Officers including Hill and Renko patrol schools to stop gang initiations. Bates continues to be teased about her pregnancy, while Goldblume resents it.
1. Chapter 1

_ROLL CALL 6:38 AM_

"Okay. Okay. Settle down!" Sgt. Lucy Bates announces over the basement full of laughter during roll call.

Det. Neal Washington chews on a toothpick and shakes his head at the latest absurdity spoken.

Other officers calm down. Det. Mick Belker squints while sucking on a cigar.

Sgt. Bates smirks. "Uh, item twelve. Division has kicked out a host of assignments around town. There's a lot of work to be done in tandem with downtown. Det. Mick Belker will be working undercover and surveillance with Det. Neal Washington on…uh," She looks down at the clipboard. "…unnamed gallery between Franklin and Lafayette St. We're looking for a collection of paintings that might not be deemed kosher."

Belker closes his eyes in anguish. Various officers try to rile him up.

Monroe calls out, "Hey, maybe you can find a Warhol of fire hydrants!"

Belker growls at the officer.

Monroe yells, "See! See! I rest my case!"

The sergeant stands waiting with arms folded. She's in no mood to laugh during roll call. "Are you finished?"

An officer from in back speaks up. "Oh, come on Lucy. You used to laugh with us."

Another voice is heard saying, "Hope the kid has J.D.'s sense of humor.

Bates is startled by the remark. "Who said that?" She steps away from the podium. "I asked, who said that?" Zigzagging through the seated cops with her eyes, the sergeant spots one officer shaking his head in disapproval. She stands right over him. "Was it you, Garcia?"

"Me?" He answers.

Officers Andy Renko and Bobby Hill watch from a little ways in front. Renko says quietly, "Sarge is on the war path. Hormonal you think, Bobby?"

"You said it, Renko."

Bates turns her attention to the front of the room. "You got somethin' to add, Renko?" She walks over to stand over him in an intimidating fashion.

"N…no, Ma'am."

The sergeant goes to the front of the room, next to the podium. "You know, all you lunch-buckets have been givin' me grief since I took over as Roll Call Sergeant four weeks ago. I didn't ask to be pinned to desk duty! You think I like this? You think I'm gonna enjoy getting twenty pounds heavier in front of you people? You think I asked to get knocked up and then have the father die on me before this kid is even born? You wanna play twenty questions? Huh? How about you, Garcia? Renko? You wanna join in too? 'So, Sarge? How was he?' Okay. I'll tell ya. He was hot in the sack! 'What d'ya think it'll be?' I don't know and I don't care! I want it to be a surprise! How's that? For all of you talkin' behind my back on a daily basis who keep on saying you hope this kid is more like LaRue? Guess what, it's half me and half him. So live with that!"

Lt. Henry Goldblume stands next to the wall, feeling awkward. He knew how it felt to be chewed out by Sgt. Lucille Bates. Lt. Howard Hunter of the Emergency Action Team is beside him smoking his pipe, not bothered by the sergeant's yelling.

Bates continues to speak loudly. "Yeah, and I got a sense of humor. But you know what? There's a time and there's a place for it. We've got serious matters to deal with. If I gotta try out my parenting skills on you hecklers, then so be it. You wanna get to work or you want your diapers changed?"

Nobody says a word. Several officers bow their heads down in shame.

She says, "Alright. With that said… Item thirteen! Patrolling of Jefferson High School. I know a bunch of you got kids and I'll be joining the ranks soon too, again. I got one in high school and one on the way. People, we are looking for street punks that are trying to recruit kids as young as thirteen years old. There were two high school deaths in the past month. These are being looked at as possibly gang related. Look, we gotta keep these predators away from our kids. Nobody knows how bad this can get, but there are some high schoolers who can easily be swayed to join. Let's nip this in the bud, people! We're gonna have two sets of cops a day for as long as it takes. Rollins and Churnowsky. Monroe and Wayne. Garcia and Buchanan. Hill and Renko. All of which will be patrolling the outside perimeter of the school."

Hill and Renko look at each other.

Bates looks down at the clipboard again. "Item fourteen. Lt. Henry Goldblume will again be down here at ten o'clock to school some of the rookies. Be on your best behavior and please show up on time."

Goldblume nods his head in agreement after making eye contact with Bates.

"Item last!" Bates yells out. "The benefit for Jefferson High that's being coached by Dudley R. Hicks finally has a home. The rink is at the West End Arena. They're lookin' at a date to be announced. In the meantime, if you've signed up already, there are practice sessions so you don't hurt yourself on the ice."

Hill nudges Renko. "That's for you, cowboy. You've got your own extra padding for those landings."

"Oh, shut up about that. You won't be laughin' and makin' jokes when I make my victory dance."

"Okay. That's it." Bates says.

Officers start picking up trash after their breakfast, leaving nothing behind. The sound of chairs skid against the floor. Bates looks up, breaking the chaos.

"Since I'm Roll Call Sergeant, let's do it right. Let's roll…" She glances around the room where everybody freezes. "…and let's be careful out there."

The long line of officers make their way up the stairs. Hill demonstrates Renko's girth with his hands expanded out. His robust partner scowls.

Belker walks up to Bates, upstairs. "Sarge? I think you did a great job. I'm sure being pregnant and handling everybody isn't easy."

Bates can immediately tell that her colleague is only trying to butter her up.

"Thanks Mick. Now, what is it you really want?"

He rubs the back of his neck in nervous agitation. "What is it with some of these assignments though? A gallery? Can you see it, Luc? Really? Me?"

She exhales, trying to feel sorry for the diminutive detective. Closing her eyes for that one moment to gather her thoughts she says, "Mick. I don't make these up. I'm just the messenger. You need to talk with the captain."

Lt. Goldblume goes to her. "Lucy? The captain wants to see you."

Bates immediately makes her way to the office.

Capt. Frank Furillo waits for her.

"You wanted to see me, Capt.?" Bates asks in a timid fashion.

"Lucy, I heard about what happened at roll call. The outbursts?"

"I got a little too emotional when I was provoked."

"That's not how I heard it. There were a couple of remarks made and you flew off the handle. This being sensitive business, will this be an issue?"

"No." She looks down. "I have these crazy days where either I feel sick or hungry or just really emotional. I don't know where it's coming from. Ya know, I've only been this way over the past ten weeks."

"And you have thirty more to go." His eyes dart over to the half empty coffee mug. He immediately dumps the contents into a small potted plant next to his desk.

She looks back up. "I just feel like I'm boxed in. Like some kid who can't play in the rain. I know I can do more until I really show."

"Uh-uh. If you're referring to me letting you out on duty, I can't do that. It would be too much of a liability in case anything should happen to you. I don't want to jeopardize you or the baby."

"Milner was allowed to perform her usual duties up until she was at least four months pregnant. I don't see the difference."

"The difference is you're a sergeant. Higher ranking officers have to be looked after."

"Maybe I should consult the handbook?"

Furillo leans over the table with desperation in his eyes. "Please take my word for it. This would make things so much easier."

Bates nods back in reluctant agreement. "You're right."

She walks out of his office.

Lt. Hunter greets her.

"I've been doing some studying lately about pregnancy and birth. I must tell you, it is quite the fascinating journey. The woman's reproductive system that is. Besides the nine month gestation of Junior in amniotic fluid. Did you know at ten weeks your little hatchling is out of their pollywog state." He gives a huge Cheshire Cat grin. When he sees she's lost, he answers. "Pollywog? Tadpole?"

Bates tightens, stiffening. Her eyes show a hint of anger.

"Are you calling me a frog?" She leers at him.

Hunter takes a step back. "Bates. Now, I can explain…"

"Are you calling me a _frog_?"

The lieutenant makes a quick getaway.

She immediately goes after him. "I'm gonna whip you like a fly, Howard!"

Various officers watch the two disappear out of the squad room.


	2. Chapter 2

"Mick, we've been through this over and over again. You know the rules. Division kicks out a list of assignments. It could be anyone. This one just happened to be assigned to you. The system doesn't know preferences. The only qualification is a cop." Capt. Furillo says.

Det. Belker answers back. "I have no problem in performing assignments."

"Just that you wish they would go with your code of ethics. Am I right, Mick?"

"Captain, I honestly don't know if I can successfully do this job."

"What makes you question this one?"

"I'm not a schmoozer. Do I look like I could run an art gallery? Much less tell what's a real painting?"

"Mick, you can be anything your heart tells you to. You've done thousands of undercover and stakeout operations where you pretended and you didn't seem to have a problem with any of them."

"Captain, if this is a big operation, I don't wanna screw it up. That's not what I collect a paycheck for. I'm not sloppy. This is far more of a L…" He stops himself.

"I know what you were about to say. Far more of a LaRue assignment."

Belker miserably drops his head. "I can't do the things he did. This reminds me too much. Too much of why I miss the guy." His eyes get glassy as his voice breaks. "I really miss the big hairbag." He sniffles back, attempting to regain his composure. "There. I said it."

"I feel the same sentiment as you, Mick. I miss him too. We all do. Well, except the hairbag reference. I know this might be tough for you to believe but I think you can do this job. And I think you can do it well. Channel him."

"What?" Belker furrows his brows.

"Channel LaRue."

"Captain. No offense but I'm not into that paranormal stuff. I don't go and conjure up spirits."

Furillo gives a small smile. "Mick, I'm not asking you to call his spirit, just think, how would J.D. handle this situation?"

Belker slowly nods back in understanding. Then he asks, "Why Neal?"

"Because he can help you. At least two people are needed on this assignment and I can't pair him up with Henry after what happened a little while ago. You know Neal is excellent with surveillance."

"Yeah. We did do good together on that car parts bust and some other assignments."

"Just make sure you're attired correctly for the job. My best advice to you would be go downstairs. Get cleaned up and ready. You'll be fit for a wire too."

...

Officer Andy Renko grouses as he looks out the window of the cruiser, at the high school property. "We've been here since the buses rolled in and there ain't a sign of nobody wantin' to get in while school's in session."

"We're just gonna sit here and wait like we're assigned, cowboy." Officer Bobby Hill answers.

"While we sit here and wait, I'd like to talk about the finer points of our fair gendered expectant sergeant."

"Lucy." Hill says dryly. "The ticking time bomb."

"How do you think Junior is going to turn out?"

"Every time she reminds us who the father is, I can't help but feel sorry for them. Not necessarily because it's J.D. More along the lines that kid is gonna grow up to have the temper of their momma. Havin' two Bates will be somethin' else. I tell you that."

"Junior could turn out like J.D." Renko reminds Hill.

"What's that? Trouble? A rule breaker like their daddy?"

"Or…"

"Or both. I can't help but think of those two gettin' together as oil and water. Tough disciplinarian hard workin' individual or troublesome practical joking playboy who learns to love the mirror before the age of two."

Renko sits up in the seat with alertness when he sees someone approaching the main door. "I don't know much about two, but since we're on duty for the fifteen set, I'd say someone's anxious to get in that school."

Hill looks over. "Where? Him? That's a teacher who's late to class, you dummy. We're lookin' for folks who are loiterin'. Just standin' around. Not someone who's anxious to get inside."

"Well then I don't see anybody like that. Bobby, this is a waste of time." Renko answers in disapproval.

Hill takes a glance at a student leaving the main door. "How about that?" He looks to see an older teen a block away from the school. "Looks like he's waitin' for _somethin'_ or _someone_."

They wait. The man goes inside the building.

"Ah. False alarm." Hill answers deflated.

...

In the men's locker room, Mick Belker and Neal Washington get ready for their undercover assignment. Washington straightens out his navy and yellow striped tie against a very pristine matching navy suit. He keeps his eyes on the small mirror tacked onto the locker door.

"Me and J.D. must've done a thousand of these kinda assignments. Each and every one of which we nailed."

Belker doesn't feel too good about that.

Washington looks back at his temporary partner who adds the finishing touches to his face with an electric shaver. Belker's eyes dart over as he checks out a tie not to his taste. Washington adds finishing touches of a sweet smelling cologne. He says, "Mmm hmm. I remember this one undercover operation where we had to take down a real sleazy developer. Man, J.D. was great at playin' those cons. He was great at bein' a shyster. This guy bought J.D.'s con in record time and we busted him real fast. Man, so fast that the captain said he thought we had left already. And there we were holdin' this guy at booking before noon. The captain told us to take the rest of the day off and…" Washington looks down mournfully. "I'd give anything to have J.D. on his worst day, than not have him around at all." He shuts the locker door. Belker has a hard time with his tie. Washington looks at him. "Mick, you're doin' it all wrong."

"Neal, I know how to tie a neck tie." Belker answers annoyed.

"Here, let me do it." Washington says, undoing it.

Belker fights him when he feels fingers undoing two buttons of his shirt. "What are you doing? Get your hands away from there before I bite them off!"

"There." Washington answers undeterred, flipping Belker's collar out. "Pure con man, babe." He smiles.

Belker grimaces in the mirror on his locker door. Then he breaks into a smile and puts on a pair of dark sunglasses.

"You might think of wearin' a chain with all that fur."

Belker's expression changes to unamused when he sees Washington poke his head around the corner with the same big smile.

On the main floor, Belker arrives from downstairs. He gets whistles and wolf calls. Female officers stare. The diminutive detective peeks up from his dark shades, and straightens his open collar shirt under a snazzy dark suit. Bates watches him walk by.

"Mick?" She asks aloud.

"Ahoooo Hooo!" Another officer howls.

Only the sergeant's head turns, following Belker with her eyes.

Washington arches his brows at another cop in recognition they're surprised by Mick Belker's fashion ensemble. He smiles. Looking at Bates he says, "Sarge?" Then he glances at her stomach. "Hey there, little lovah!" Gently, he puts a hand to her belly before walking away.

Bates looks down, placing a hand on her stomach where Washington had. A small smile creeps onto her face.

Furillo picks up the phone in his office. "Hello? Yes, Chief. Uh, no. Not much at the moment. You do. I see. I… Well, yes I do have someone. Understood. Okay. I'll see you soon. Bye."

As he puts down the phone, Det. Lt. Goldblume wanders around the squad room.

"Oh, Henry? Can I talk with you for a minute, please?"

Goldblume finishes talking with an officer. "Sure, Frank. What is it?"

"I need you to look after the station for oh, say…an hour or so."

"Now?" Goldblume asks shocked.

"Do you think you could do that for me, Henry?" Furillo grabs his jacket off the hook.

"_Right now_? Frank, I have a room full of rookies I have to talk with…" Goldblume checks his watch. "…in about forty-five minutes. I can't just forget about them."

"You'll already be in the station. I'm not asking for you to sit on your hands and wait. Just oversee what's going on while I'm gone. That's all."

Goldblume puts his hands up in a giving up motion. "Why not? I'm being punished as it is."

Furillo furrows his brows in pity. "Henry, come on. You're not being punished for anything."

"No. I'm just teaching the equivalent of kindergarten in a police station." The detective sergeant nods back reluctantly. "Okay. I'll do it."


	3. Chapter 3

Belker and Washington wait inside the surveillance truck across the street from the gallery. Washington starts to unwrap his lunch. Belker looks out the small window at the sign hanging above the door. "Windermere Gallery. How did you come up with that?"

"Sounded like a good fence name to me."

"How am I supposed to know one painting from the next?"

"Improvise, babe." Washington thinks for a moment before taking a bite of the sandwich. "Mick, do you even know about art? Any of the artists?"

"Well, I do know that paintings of naked women isn't art. They need to put clothes on them. Then we're talking art."

Washington nods his head. "Some people might not agree with you, Mick."

"What? You don't?"

"Hey man. I'd rather have the real thing next to me. Not a painting or a magazine. J.D. on the other hand could take it whatever way he could."

Belker rolls his eyes. "Can we talk about something more pleasant?"

"Your gig."

"Oh wait!" Belker pulls out an art book from a bag. "I picked this up at the book store next to the deli. It's got all this information and pictures about famous artists. Name one."

"Matisse."

"Alright." Belker searches the pages. "Got it. _Still Life With Oranges. Pastoral. _Of course with a bunch of naked people. _By The Sea_. That's a nice one. _Dance II_. More naked people. What do people see in this stuff?"

"I don't know, Mick."

Slightly annoyed, Belker says, "Try another one."

"Claude Monet."

"Isn't that the one who painted soup cans?"

"Uh-uh. Warhol."

Belker skips through pages. "Ah, Claude Monet. Oh, he's the one with the funny paint style. Tiny strokes with a lot of color."

"You got it." Washington answers, glancing out the window.

"_Woman with a Parasol_. _The Artist's House at Argenteuil_. _Garden Path_. And all of the people are nicely dressed. Good taste. I think I like Monet." Belker smiles to himself. "Here's another… _Water Lilies_." He stops to think of something. "I wonder if that would be a good idea."

"Hey babe, we've got company. You're all hooked up, right?" Washington swiftly turns to see Belker still preoccupied with the art book. "Mick! They're here." Reaching over, he shuts the book. "Man, we can't wait!" Frantically looking around, he plops the second half of his sandwich and remaining coffee cup on the tray."

"What? I don't eat roast beef!"

"It'll do your breath a whole lot better than anchovies and cream cheese." Washington starts pushing Belker out the door. "Trust me, man. You'll learn to enjoy it. Go! Go!"

Belker finds himself on the sidewalk holding the makeshift tray as the side door to the van slides shut.

Inside, Washington pulls out his camera to point at the two men in business suits standing next to the gallery. He begins clicking away. Keeping his eye on the man with dark slicked back hair, he pulls the camera away to squint. "Where have I seen you before?" He puts on the headphones to listen through Belker's wire.

Belker who puts on the shades, steps up to the two men. "Yes, and how may I help you two gentlemen?"

The darker haired man adjusts his tie and speaks with a French accent. "Thees is your gallery?" He looks into the empty room with peculiarity.

"Yeah. It is." Belker answers, pulling out a freshly wrapped cigar from his shirt pocket. "Nice, ain't it?"

"Verdy!"

"And you are?"

"Oh, I'm eh, Gilles DeGault. It is my understanding thzat you would need fine art to run such a plaze?"

Washington smiles, shaking his head to himself inside the truck. "Man, if you're a Frenchman, then I'm the King of England. You're our guy. Keep on talkin'."

"You know how I can get some?" Belker then looks at the door to the gallery. "Let's go inside so we can talk some more."

All three men take their conversation indoors.

The dark blond answers in a British voice, "Yes, we know how. We're experts at it."

"You are? That's great! Well, yeah! I could use all the help I can get." Belker puts out his hand. "Oh, the name's Michael Evan Zanders."

The dark blond says, "Niles Westford."

Washington listens in as he sarcastically says, "I thought it was Inspector Clouseau."

Westford answers to Belker with, "Chesterfield Gallery, Byran Auction House."

"Top money makers! Sounds impressive." Belker says cheerfully.

...

Lt. Hunter calls out to the sergeant. "Uh, Lucy? May I talk with you for a minute?"

Reluctantly, Bates goes over to him. "You wanted to see me, Howard?" She answers in a blasé tone.

"Yes, Sgt. Bates. About what I said earlier. You know I meant no harm."

"You referred to me as a frog and my unborn child a tadpole. How would you like it if someone compared you to a reptile that eats flies for a living?"

Hunter mutters out of guilt. "Maybe I could have used a better set of words. I was only referring to the stage of which the unborn is going through. I find it incredibly fascinating to know the cycle of birth."

"Oh yeah? Walk a mile in my shoes. The purging, eating, sleeping, swelling, bloating, fatigue. That's before I turn into a balloon. That's the other cycle. Unable to see my feet. Gas. Back pain. Unable to fit into anything that exists in my closet. Waddling. Cycle of birth? Hurray."

"Lucy, what I'm trying to say is, I think that child will turn out to be as beautiful as you."

"Howard, I really don't need to be buttered up."

Hunter gently takes her arm. "No. No. This I do mean…from the heart. This child will be just as warm and kind and brave as their mother."

"Oh, Howard." She answers, blushing. "Will you feel that way the final weeks of the cycle of birth? Oh, you know. Just the fluid I'll be leaking before the big moment? Or how about the screaming in agony for an epidural when the doctor gives me what will seem like a cavity search of all my lower organs, to pull out a living human being ranging from six to eight pounds out of an opening the size of a golf ball?"

Hunter's expression changes to a grimace as he feels his stomach churn as she continues.

"Maybe the size of an egg instead. Yeah. All purple and pink. Screaming his or her lungs out." Bates continues.

The lieutenant turns to the side, not wanting to get sick.

She says, "The cutting of the umbilical cord will be a sight to behold. Who knows what will happen with that?"

He begins to walk away.

Bates calls out, "Hey! I'm still beautiful, right?"

...

A knock comes at Chief Warren Briscoe's door. He announces, "Come in." Furillo pops his head in.

"You wanted to see me, Chief?"

"Yes I did, Frank. Please, sit down."

Furillo takes a seat across from the chief.

"I've got a whole laundry list I need to go over with you." Briscoe puts on a pair of glasses. He looks at several pages on his desk. "A matter of John LaRue's pension."

"I thought that was taken care of already."

"Frank, I haven't had enough time to look at much, let alone take care of officers needs. I've got Fletcher's mess to handle. And it _is_ a mess. Pensions take a little while to get through. There's been some things I had to sort through and deal with the review board. You know how that is? A lot of red tape. I have been constantly pushed by Lt. Bill Johnson out of division about this. He feels that LaRue's family should be given the maximum benefits due to his untimely death. From what I've read, he was just short of the twenty year eligibility mark, but still an officer at the time. Also, looking at his record, he had three citations for bravery. That's nothing to take lightly."

"I thought LaRue already had twenty years under his belt." Furillo asks in a perplexed tone.

"Frank, some of these committee members don't see him as a cop anymore."

"What do they see him as, chief?"

"A psychologist."

"Yes,…and I thought he was working under Division?"

"That's true."

"So, why aren't you having this conversation with Johnson, seeing as though he was his most recent employer?"

Briscoe lifts out a folded page from the pile. "John LaRue changed his will a week before his passing. I take it he had no spouse?"

"No. He was not married."

"It says here, it was changed from parents and then sister, to children and second of all, sister."

Furillo starts putting something together in his mind. "You… I'm sorry. You said a week before?"

"Yes."

"Okay." The captain nods back slowly. "I'm beginning to get the picture."

"You are? Good. Oh, and while you're at it, please congratulate Sgt. Bates on her and LaRue's future arrival."

"How… How did you know about that?"

"News travels fast, Frank. Apparently, she's made it well known. Pregnant women can be extremely emotional."

"That I do know." Furillo says understandably.

"Besides that, Frank, it's the talk of the town. Not what others expected to ever hear. Capt. Graumbach from East Ferry was out to dinner with his wife at Trattoria's the night before the crash. Both LaRue and Bates nearly caused a scene. She was raging at some poor guy. Then LaRue gets in on it. She starts in on him. Then she leaves and he follows her. That Bates is a real firecracker. You can fill in the blanks what happened afterwards. We wouldn't be having this conversation in the first place." Briscoe snickers. "Either way, that kid is John LaRue's rightful heir." He puts a finger up. "As long as Bates lists him as the father on the baby's birth certificate."

"Uh, Warren, the will you said was changed a week before he died? I don't think it was intended for Bates. She did tell me she was…" He awkwardly clears his throat. "She spent the night with him the day before his passing. There's no way he knew she was pregnant less than twenty-four hours later. It's impossible. Even she didn't know it until six weeks later. I do know there was another child involved in this equation. John knew. He had become aware of it two weeks prior to his death. I truly believe that's who this will was intended for."

"Okay then. There are or will be two children regarded as compensated."

"Uh, I think I have a better chance of the mother throwing a kitchen sink at me. She wants nothing to do with him, and I'm pretty certain she did not list him as her daughter's father. She never asked anything from him. That's what she told me."

"Whatever way, if Sgt. Lucille Bates lists John LaRue as her kid's father, they get it all. Benefits. Pension. You name it." Briscoe glances down, sliding away another page. "Oh, and both Rosa Calletano and Margaret LaRue-Nelson are filing for a wrongful death suit against Johnson, Kincaid, Gelman, and Jolevitch. Nelson is really pushing for it with Bill's help. If her and Ray's widow win, there's going to be a hefty sum coming from those four young men. So, my bit of advice to you is let Sgt. Bates know what her child is entitled to."

"Okay."

"My next item is of a more serious nature. Not that a pension plan is anything to sneeze at. I'm talking about LaRue's former partner, Neal Washington."

"What about Neal?" Furillo asks with curiosity.

"What position is he currently serving?"

The captain hesitates. "Um,…he's still a detective with the department but he hasn't done many cases at all since LaRue left."

"So, what does he do then?"

"Currently he's kind of an acting lieutenant.

"Kind of?"

"There's a logical explanation for all of this. Neal has an old knee injury from college that sometimes has hindered his physical ability. J.D. was far more active of the two. The department's best climber, actually. But uh, Neal has had several operations on his knee and he's okay when on medication for it." Furillo says in a rushed tone, "Warren, I don't want to lose him due to this discrepancy. He's a very good cop. By the book. I would never want to force retirement on him."

"That's not what I heard. Lt. Ed Sanchez from midtown told me about the triple homicide from a little while back. Both Washington and Henry Goldblume were on the case. He recommended Washington but couldn't say the same for Det. Lt. Goldblume. If anything, he thinks you should drop him altogether. Sanchez was outraged at Goldblume's conduct during the investigation. A man butchers his family and a so-called cop thinks a deal should be made to put him in a nuthouse rather than serve jail time?"

"Henry is sometimes a bit passionate about his work."

"Passionate? Try foolish."

"Warren, Henry Goldblume wouldn't be able to do anything in court anyway. He's just outspoken."

"Frank, Sanchez said Goldblume practically made promises to Corgan without his lawyer being present. If you want to talk about passionate, then lets talk about Washington. I've dealt with the guy before and he stands up for what he believes in. And I must add, a professional manner. Come on, Frank. Acting lieutenant? Who do you have as lieutenant right now?"

"I have two at the moment. Howard Hunter of the EATers and…Goldblume. Next in line for sergeant is Det. Mick Belker. Of course we have Lucy Bates, but she's an officer not a detective, and as far as I know doesn't wish to be."

"So, let me get this straight. For seniority, you've got an armchair psychiatrist, a trigger-happy tactical force guy, and a detective who likes to bite and growl at people. Where's the rest of the circus, Frank? Meanwhile, you have a great detective who does the right thing without any cheap dramatics getting no promotion."

"What do you suggest I do with Neal?"

"Make him a legit lieutenant."

"And throw Henry Goldblume under the bus? I can't do that!" Furillo responds outraged. "You can't just _make_ somebody a lieutenant and you can't give somebody their walking papers simply because they exercised their right in free speech. The last thing I remember, this was a free country and free speech was a first amendment. Aside from that, there _are_ steps. Neal would have to become a sergeant first."

"Fine then. Get him to take the sergeant's exam. We'll make it legal for a day, just to say he's sergeant. Then he can be up for a promotion."

"Now hold on a minute, Warren. Promotions take a long time." Furillo points emphatically. "If you're suggesting to help Neal Washington in any way, I'd have to say thanks but no thanks. I don't want to get under anybody's thumb. I've been down that road before."

"You're talking about Fletcher."

"I'm talking about anyone, Warren. I will not do that again."

"Even for the betterment of your department?"

"I just don't."

"Frank? Please think about it at the very least. Goldblume is only going to weigh you down."

Furillo turns away, not wanting to even think about the chief's suggestion.

"Seriously, Frank. Who is going to help you out with this impending gang war situation?"

"We don't know if it's a gang war, Chief. It was one guy we caught so far. He's in the system just in case. I'm sure there will be more."

...

Renko gives a deep sigh. "Bobby, we've been here for the past three hours and this place is a ghost town. Ain't nobody in sight."

Hill attempts to reassure his agitated partner. "We thought there was one."

"Thought don't mean _does_."

The radio sounds off with a female's voice. "Attention all units. Assistance is needed at Fairfax and 8th St. Burnett High School."

Hill steps on the gas. Renko reaches for the walkie-talkie. "Dispatch. 2-2-0-2 responding."

"Copy that 2-2-0-2."

"10-4."

Hill looks back at his partner. "Your lucky day, Renko."

Renko says, "I wonder if this means we can have an earlier lunch?"

Ten minutes later, they arrive at Burnett High School, in time to see three youths being frisked by fellow officers of Hill St. Buchanan holds one of the youths arms to his back. Garcia pulls out handcuffs for another. Hill says with sarcasm, "We weren't invited to the party?"

"We were wondering when you were gonna get here." Garcia answers.

Monroe chimes in. "Yeah. What took you guys so long? Didn't you know the assignment? We were only told by the captain himself."

Renko looks at Hill with concern. "No. We only got the news during roll call like the rest of you. From Lt. Goldblume's notes that were passed along to Sgt. Bates."

Wayne adds, "The captain told us to forget what Goldblume ordered and said help was needed at Burnett, not Jefferson."

Hill says unamused, "Like my partner said, we didn't get the message."

Buchanan answers quickly as the youth squirms from his grip. "We got a total of five. Each one was carrying a weapon of some sort. Handguns and knives."

Garcia says, "Two have younger brothers in this school. They were trying to recruit between classes. To try and fit in."

"A science teacher who was working as a hall monitor recognized these to be trouble. Seen them before."

Rollins walks up from behind, holding another youth in cuffs. "Says their with the Ice Lizards."

The youth speaks out, "_Cold Cobras_ you idiot!"

"Oh! I'm so sorry for hurting your teeny little feelings, little man. A thousand pardons. See one gang, see them all."

"We were just visitin' man." The youth protests. "You can't hold us on anything."

"We can't Arturo?" Rollins answers, picking up one of the guns. "So, what's this? A water pistol…" He empties the cartridge. "…that happens to have real bullets?"

Arturo barks back, "I use that for protection!"

Renko gets in Arturo's face. "Shouldn't you use that protection at home? In case of a home invasion? A place where you can _protect_ your momma and little brother? Like being the man of the house? Or is that you just like to wave this here dangerous weapon like a badge of honor among your snakes in a school full of children?"

Monroe says, "That would make him a coward."

"Who you callin' coward, _pig_!" Arturo spits back.

"He probably didn't even finish high school. Notice the uneducated way he says _who you_? Numbskull doesn't realize the correct way of saying it is, 'Who _are_ you.'"

Rollins answers back, "Nobody said gang members were smart. Hell, they're probably more illiterate than a kid from a third world country."

"I'm gonna get you man! Then we'll see how much you joke!"

"Ooh. This one's tough. Probably has daddy issues of being hit with a belt."

Hill says, "Just bring him to the car. We'll see how tough he is in a cell."

The officers lead away the troublesome youths.


	4. Chapter 4

Det. Lt. Goldblume says to his class of rookie cops, "And there you have an overview of what life is like on The Hill. It's not pretty. It's not like what they show on TV. We just fight to stay alive and keep the streets safe. That's…about it. Any questions?"

A young officer raises his hand.

Goldblume notices him. "Yes, sir? A question?"

"Yeah. Are we required to dress in drag for assignments?"

The lieutenant looks at the rookie awkwardly. "Only if an undercover assignment calls for it. Usually a rapist case. Does that answer your question?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Does anybody else have a question?" Goldblume looks around the room. Then he sees the same rookie raising his hand. "Hanover…again?"

"Yes. I have to ask when we dress in drag, are we required to pick something out of our mother's closet?"

Various rookies snicker. Goldblume's eyes scan to see he's not being taken seriously. "Anybody else _besides_ Hanover?"

Shortly afterwards, Goldblume slowly walks up the stairs. He catches the captain wanting to talk with Sgt. Bates.

Miffed, he walks away, just as some of the officers return with several gang recruiters. Bates leaves the captain's office.

Hill calls out, "Okay, Arturo. We're gonna get you set up behind a cushy cell. At least until your momma comes to bail you out. How's that?"

Renko gets in front of the youth. "Son, you were caught with a loaded weapon. How do you think that will look to the courts?"

"I can say it wasn't mine. I was just holdin' it for somebody else." Arturo answers confidently.

"In a school? Man, you're just as stupid as you look." Hill says.

Capt. Furillo calls over Hill and Renko. They look at each other after noticing Buchanan and Garcia nearby. The two walk into the office.

"Close the door." Furillo orders.

Renko does so.

"I just had a talk with Buchanan and Garcia. They told me they were short-handed at the high school.

"Uh, we were there, Captain. I swear." Hill answers defensively.

"Let me finish. They were at Burnett High School. You were at Jefferson. Can you explain how that happened, Bobby?"

"Yeah. We were assigned to Jefferson High as we were told."

"You were told? By who?"

Hill shrugs back. "By whoever put us in charge of the assignment. Division?"

"Didn't you get my memo? I left Lt. Goldblume in charge to give it to Sgt. Bates while in roll call."

Renko says timidly, "Captain? Uh, sir? No offense but Lt. Goldblume didn't say anything about it."

"So you're telling me that I had to address everybody individually about the change?"

Hill takes over. "Honestly Captain. There was no memo. Henry said nothing about the subject."

"He was there, right?" Furillo asks pointedly.

"Yes, sir."

"And yet he made no mention to say anything to Sgt. Bates?"

"No. He just seemed really annoyed by something or other."

"From now on, you two, Buchanan, Garcia, Rollins, and Monroe are assigned to Burnett High until further notice by me. Word down the pike is we have to keep our eyes fully open in that area."

"Uh, Capt.? What about Jefferson?"

"Jefferson doesn't have gang members family enrolled in their high school. That's why there was very little activity and they couldn't get in anyway. Burnett does. Now, I want you to finish booking those you have and then all of you go back to your assigned post. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Okay. You can go now."

Hill opens the door with Renko following close to him. They walk out into the squad room. Renko says, "Why would you say that about Henry and get him in trouble? Isn't that a form of tattle-tailing?"

"Renko, it's not a form of tattle-tailing if the captain wants to have our butts barbecued when we didn't do anything wrong. Now, Henry was supposed to give Lucy the memo and he didn't. I know he's not crazy about the pregnancy but that doesn't make him exempt from taking responsibility for his own actions."

"You know the captain's been developing a real sweet spot for Miss Lucy."

"It's not _our_ place to play favorites. We got work to do. Come on, cowboy."

Furillo steps out of his office to watch Goldblume who gulps down a paper cup of water from the water cooler. Bitterly, the lieutenant crushes the cup, chucking it in a trash can nearby. The captain stiffens and goes back inside his office, picking up his coat.

...

Inside the surveillance van, Washington listens attentively through Belker's wire as he flips the pages of the art book.

DeGault quietly remarks to Westford, "Thees will be easy money."

Washington says, "That's right, babe. Easy money. Keep reelin' 'em in."

Belker is heard pulling out papers from a folder. "You gotta understand, we're on a tight schedule to open.

Westford asks, "When do you need them?"

"Oh, I'd say by the end of the week. The showing is on Sunday."

"Sunday?" Westford answers.

"Dammit, Mick!" Washington shuts the book, pounding his hand on the cover. "Nobody has a premiere on a Sunday! We're gonna lose this operation if you can't get it right. Sunday." He shakes his head. After regaining his composure, he says to himself, "Looks like it's time for help Michael Evan." Washington slides the headphones off, and dons a pair of fake reading glasses. He leaves the van.

Belker explains further. "Why? What's the matter with Sunday? Any day is good for art."

Westford slowly says, "Well, that's true. Odd choice of day though."

DeGault breaks into the conversation. "What are you looking for?"

"Looking for?" Belker freezes.

"Yez. Zhe type of art. Renaissance? Impressionist? Realism? Abstract? Minima.."

Washington breezes through. "Michael Evan," He says in a dignified accent. "Shame on you for not letting me in on the deal. We have a pact, you know."

Belker turns to Washington. "Of course, Neal. How could I forget? Well, what would you say we need for the show?"

Westford nudges his partner. "And, uh, who are you?"

Washington introduces himself. "Neal Humphrey." He shakes their hands. "We really need some artwork for the big show."

"Right here?" Westford points. "In this town? Between this line of buildings?"

"Where would you suggest? Next to Sadie's Showgirls?"

"Um, no."

"So, what do you have?" Belker asks.

DeGault opens up a folder. "These." He flips pages. "We've got many to choose from, as I started to tell you before he came in. Renaissance. Impressionist. Realism. Abstract. Minimalist. Modern."

"I think we'll want to start with some big names. Like, uh… Three of Van Gough. One Renoir. Gauguin. Monet. Ah, make that two." Belker looks over some of the names.

Washington takes over. "Don't forget Degas. What do you have for Renaissance?"

Westford answers with, "Which would you like? French? Italian? Spanish? Flemish?..."

"_Flem-ish_? Yuck." Belker responds.

Washington quickly elbows him in the ribs. "Italian."

...

Goldblume knocks on the captain's door.

Furillo answers, "Come in."

"You wanted to see me, Frank?"

"Please, close the door."

Goldblume shuts it, and eyes Furillo with peculiarity.

"Henry, what was written in the memo I handed to you this morning?"

"The memo? You mean about the gang recruitment?"

"Yes, Henry."

"You mentioned how the officers were stationed at the school."

"The memo read, all officers are to change focus from Jefferson to Burnett High School. That's what was supposed to happen, but instead I find out that two of my men were at Jefferson because they didn't get the memo you were supposed to give them."

Goldblume turns away in shame. "It was an honest mistake, Frank. I didn't think."

"Henry, it's not like you to get sloppy. That's not how you earned your promotion as lieutenant." Furillo answers sternly.

"What can I say?" Goldblume shakes his head. "I just… I just didn't think."

"Because of your non-thinking, we almost lost a few gang members. Henry, whatever is going on, you need to seriously consider the implications of putting this department in jeopardy. When I leave someone in charge, I expect them to carry out orders."

A flustered Goldblume turns back. "Frank, what am I supposed to do? You put me on duty with a bunch of kids that don't take anything I say seriously. It's worse than when I had to help potty train Annie and Josh. These are grown men who the general population are supposed to trust? God help them, Frank."

"It's your responsibility to teach them, _not_ figure they're a lost cause simply because _you_ don't like a particular assignment." Furillo answers bitterly.

"That's another thing, Frank. All of the latest assignments have been undermining my ability. Not only that, but I lose roll call to Lucy Bates."

"You know why she's doing that. I can't send her out in the streets in her condition."

"But you allowed Milner and even Hammond do active duty until four months. They were pregnant too. Second trimester. Lucy's barely out of her first. You know what? Forget it. Let's just wipe away everything… Never mind." Goldblume puts his hands up in defeat. He quickly makes his way out of the captain's office.

Furillo looks out the door with a sigh.

...

Goldblume finishes washing his hands when Lt. Hunter enters the men's room. Goldblume looks in the mirror as he asks, "Is it just me or is Frank being a little overly protective?"

Hunter pulls the pipe out of his mouth. "Of what, Henry?"

"Lucy."

"Well, as we know she is in a sensitive situation until the holidays."

"The pregnancy. It's okay to say the word." Goldblume answers dryly.

"She's in a time where there's a lot of upheaval. The sensations of a new life growing inside. An adjustment of the human organs preparing one for enough space to accommodate the new tenant. A body where all nutrients will be met by the need of this little creature who shall devour and snack on whatever its mother eats."

Goldblume testily dries his hands with a paper towel. "Oh, for crying out loud, Howard."

"Births and babies are an integral part of the whole path not only humans but animals partake to keep its… _our_ kind from going extinct."

"Thank you Dr. Spock." Goldblume says with sarcasm. "I wasn't talking about a whole lesson on childbirth, Howard. I was stating that our captain is perhaps playing favorites."

"How so?" Hunter asks slightly perplexed.

"Remember that rookie we had last year? Barbara Hammond? Pretty girl between her late 20's early 30's? Red hair. She was only with us a little less than six months. Three months until she announced she was pregnant. There was no preferential treatment with her. If anything, she felt slighted that nobody asked how she was doing. She did all of the dangerous work a patrol officer usually does. If anything, she got angry and quit the force when things got too hairy for her.

"I think I see where this is going." Hunter answers.

"Did Frank care then? No. Did he even care Barbara's boyfriend was a firefighter from Company 4? No. What does he do with Lucy though? After only six weeks of pregnancy and finding out he tells me, 'Take her off of all patrol duty.' Then he assigns her to do roll call. 'Sorry Henry. I have to give her something to do.' Yeah, as if working with files isn't enough. She handled it poorly after Phil died. She did a little better after, but then she pulls this."

"Henry, are you jealous of a fetus?"

"No. I don't blame the baby. I blame this need of her to remind us all the time who the father is. What she said in roll call today was uncalled for."

"She was provoked, Henry."

"So? She says things when she's not provoked too. Howard, there is a difference between professionalism and being tacky. She's using this child to show its pedigree. She knows John LaRue was one of Frank's favorites. Face it, this kid has a better bloodline than your Shar-Pei."

"Henry, have you ever looked at it from her point of view? She knew John a far greater deal longer than either of us. Nothing ever went on between them while he was here at the station. She loses Joseph under tragic circumstances. When she finally gets together with John, he's taken away the next day under a cloud of insidious political greed. And then she's left with an innocent child who's left fatherless."

Goldblume goes over to the condom vending machine, drops a coin in and retrieves a small plastic packet from the receiving tray. He holds it between his fingers. Snidely he remarks, "All it takes is one of these to fix the problem." Slapping it on the sink, he walks out the door.

Hunter picks it up and says to himself, "Low blow, Henry. Low blow."


	5. Chapter 5

Public Defender Joyce Davenport comes to the station to retrieve her young clients that the officers picked up at the school. She signs in, then looks around until she spots Hill and Renko.

"Officers?"

Hill is the first to speak. "Ms. Davenport?"

"Where is my client?" She asks.

Renko answers back, holding the door open for her. "Right this way, ma'am. Interrogation Room B."

Davenport steps in. She looks stoically at the scruffy black haired youth at the table. His dark eyes follow her every move. He rubs at his light moustache. Renko hands her a folder. She opens it as she takes a seat across from him. "Arturo Marquez. I see you were in juvy at thirteen. Didn't graduate from high school."

"I gotta take care of my momma."

"That's what they all say, Mr. Marquez. It says here that you and your friends were caught carrying guns and knives."

"Protection, lady." He snarls back.

"You lit a table on fire in junior high. I'm guessing you got bored with Study Hall."

"Yeah, and I was about to light that teacher's wig on fire and put it on his head."

She shakes her head and calmly says, "It also says you nearly beat a classmate to death when he took your lunch. A real mean streak, Mr. Marquez."

"He had it comin'. Just like those pigs out there." Arturo squints back. "They all law and order, when they don't know what they're up against. I'll tell you, lawyer lady. You don't wanna cross Pedro Morales. You never want to cross him. He'll put those pigs heads on sticks. Like popsicles! Ice them all! Be callin' it a _pig_ roast. Could be a donut shop. Just like that. Get a dozen of them cops. Could be a bar where they hang out. Paint a police station red. You just never know. We don't call ourselves the Cold Cobras for nothin'. Ice 'em with our venom. When it comes down to it, after they get taken down, then we take out the boss. The man that gives the orders. No big law and order man gonna stop us." Arturo stares viciously at Davenport with intent to intimidate.

She stares back at him.

Sgt. Bates sits at a desk, typing files. The phone rings. She picks it up.

"Hill Street station. Yeah? This is. Oh, hi Peg. No. No. That's quite alright. Coffee? If that's code for lunch, I can do it. If it's the actual thing, Junior won't let me. Tomorrow? Twelve is fine by me. He doesn't know?"

Hill finishes his arrest report. He steps up next to Bates, waiting for her to get off the phone.

She continues her conversation and briefly looks up at him. "Okay. I gotcha. Right. Tomorrow it is. I'll see you then. Bye." Bates picks the report out of Hill's hands. "Sorry about that, Bobby."

"Family?" He asks.

"You could say that. Peg, J.D.'s sister wants to have lunch with me tomorrow."

"You're having a problem with that."

"It's just… I don't know much about J.D.'s family. I don't really know much about him at all. Then I get a call from his sister, saying she wants to hang out? The whole thing seems so strange, Bobby. I didn't even know or talk with these people before all of this happened...and now, I'm treated like one of the family. I know what's going to happen. All that reminiscing."

"You could always call her back and tell her you're busy."

"Do you know how many times I would have to do that? I can't run away from them."

Hill leans over, "Can I give you a little bit of advice?"

"Sure."

"Don't. Don't run away from J.D.'s family. That's what they are. Peg is gonna be an aunt. This is something incredibly new and special to her. You think it's awkward now, just wait until all those holidays. Her and Rob… At least Peg _wants_ to be in Junior's life. You keep that away from them, him or her,…Junior that is, and you'll be facing a lot of resentment down the line. Questions you can't answer. Now that's awkward."

Bates looks at Hill with a mixture of understanding and guilt. "I wish you weren't right, Bobby. Okay. I'll try."

Hill puts a hand on her shoulder. He gives a wide smile. "Atta girl." After he steps away, she looks ahead to think.

...

At Division, Frank weaves his way through the quiet room with Lt. Bill Johnson, as officers sit, quietly tapping at their computer keyboards.

The lieutenant looks back at the bemused captain. "You asked about LaRue?"

"Yes."

"If you're looking for a glowing review, Frank, you've got one. I will say, he was nervous at first. You know, nothing to worry about. Like a kid on the first day of school. He learned to relax though pretty quickly. Always on time. Cracked up my guys with jokes. John was really something." Johnson shakes his head. Turning to look back at Frank, he stops reminiscing. "I can tell by that skeptical look on your face, you saw a different side to him altogether. I've seen that look on other commanding officer's faces for various guys."

"Bill, I'm not questioning J.D.'s work ethics. He certainly was a damn good cop, when he wanted to be."

Johnson repeats Furillo's words in muttering fashion. "When he wanted to be. Frank, if you want to play judge and jury with John LaRue, look no further than me…or you. The fact is, you and I both know…"

A plain clothes officer interrupts them. "Lt.? Here's the file you requested a signature on."

Lt. Johnson signs the form, handing it back to the man. "Oh, and tell him to call me if he needs anything."

Without missing a beat he continues with Furillo. "You and I both know this job is tough. Cops always need help. It's a hellish world. We know what it's like though. Those dark days of picking up the bottle. We're not perfect, and because of that, we've learned. We're in the business of helping people, Frank. I never forget that. Just like I can never forget thirty officers John LaRue helped, five of which were saved from an early grave. He did an outstanding job." Johnson leads the captain into a small office.

Frank slowly says while taking a seat, "Bill, I'm not here for his resume. His pension is what I came here to talk about."

Johnson takes a seat across from him at his desk.

"His family will get everything they're entitled to."

"He hadn't reached the twenty year mark at the time of his passing."

"You're talking about his switch over from detective to Division psychologist."

"Does the committee see his seniority?"

"Frank, just because John quit being a detective, he never stopped being a cop. He was sanctioned by me. I'm no detective, but rest assured, I am an officer of the law. I never stopped even though I run this portion of the department now. You're wrong about something, Frank. He was already at twenty-one. If you're thinking he lost all seniority two years ago when he joined with us, you can stop telling everybody he didn't. He was a cop to the very end."

Frank takes a moment to think. "Bill? Did he ever say much about his family?"

"Nothing more than his sister, Peggy, or what he liked to call his brother in-law, Rob 'swine.' I get the distinct impression you're fishing for more."

"This has to… Paternity. That's why I'm here."

"Oh."

"Did he say anything about children?"

"Frank, I don't go home with these guys. I wouldn't know what they do on their off-time. He never mentioned anything." Johnson hesitates before asking, "Do you know what it is?"

"The child? Not born yet."

"By this rare drop-by visit, let me guess. She's one of yours. The mother, that is."

"Cop. She's equally a damn good one too. She's been going through hell since it happened. Then she found out…about the pregnancy. It's been tough for all of us, but especially her." The captain gives a weakened smile. "She just cleared her first trimester."

Johnson sits back. "Right around the same time."

"She told me she was with him the night before the…" Frank takes a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. "…accident." Swiftly bounding from the chair, he says, "Thanks for all your help." With tightened lips, he picks up his jacket and walks to the door. Before he can reach the threshold, Johnson's voice makes him stop.

"I told Chief Briscoe to give John's family everything he was worth. Also, I told Peggy Nelson to sue the pants off of those officers and everybody in charge of her brother's death. That goes for Fletcher Daniels, a true swine. There's a few other things I'd like to call him, but I'll leave it at that. One more thing. Let me know when she has the baby."

Frank gathers his thoughts for a moment. "I will." Then he walks away.

...

Belker sucks on a cigar. He peeks over the rims of his dark sunglasses. "I was checking inventory. We're lookin' for I'd say between twenty-three to twenty-five to fill up this gallery."

Washington looks on.

DeGault rubs his hands together. "If you're looking for twenty-five, it will cost you one point two."

Belker takes the cigar out of his mouth. "That's about fifty for each. Isn't that cheap?"

"Nobody zaid they had to be expensive."

"Are they real?"

"Real as you and me, Mr. Zanders." Westford answers back. "You do want the best quality, correct?"

"Wait. Quality?" Belker grins. "You mean fakes?"

"Nu no. Think of it as _reproductions_." DeGault answers.

"Reproductions?" Belker asks quizzically.

"Yes. Like pastiches and replicas." DeGault slowly walks around the empty perimeter looking over the bare walls.

"We'll take them." Washington pipes up. He steps over to his partner and quietly remarks, "John would know more about this than you."

Under gritted teeth, Belker answers back. "I'm trying my best."

Westford turns around quickly. "I'm sorry. Did you say something?"

"Uh, my partner here, Mr. Humphrey was just reminding me of his late partner, Johnny D. He knew an awful lot."

"The name doesn't ring any bells. Do I know him?"

Washington answers back. "Probably not. Johnny D. Aldo. He was on the west coast." He shakes his head.

Westford asks, "May I ask, what happened to him?"

Washington says, "Heart attack."

At the same time Belker says, "Ice cream truck."

Both turn to look at each other.

Washington corrects them. "He started to have a heart attack while walking across the street…"

Belker finishes the sentence. "…and then he got hit by the ice cream truck." He looks down mournfully.

Westford says, "How awful. I'm dreadfully sorry."

DeGault interrupts. "Are you aware that a single van Gough can fetch half a million alone. Mr. Zanders, are you not aware that Vincent van Gough sold very little during his lifetime? He was so mentally ill, that he cut off part of his ear."

Belker says, "I know a guy who bit off a nose." He starts chuckling.

Washington shakes his head in dismay while Westford and DeGault exchange unamused glances. "Okay, so who do we make the check out to?" He asks, pulling out a billfold.

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Humphrey. Payment upon receipt of merchandise. Tomorrow. We pick you up at eleven o'clock sharp." Westford answers.

Belker slides the sunglasses down to his nose. "Wait. We need to pick ten more."

"No worries, Mr. Zander. You can finish picking tomorrow. Like I said before, we'll meet up with you here and pick you up. We can talk about the rest then. Just bring the money. No funny business either."

...

A knock comes at Furillo's office door.

"Come in." He says.

Davenport looks at him with a deep breath. She removes her glasses. "I saw you walk by before. Looked like you had a lot on your mind. Care to talk about it?"

"I went to visit Bill Johnson down at Division."

"About LaRue."

"He told me that the family would get his full pension. I don't know. The whole thing still seems so surreal. Losing him…and Ray." He snaps out of his mood to sound more positive. "Anyway, what's going on with you?"

"I just got done talking with Arturo Marquez. The devil himself would be proud of this one. Juvy at thirteen. Beat a classmate to a pulp. Lit furniture on fire. Had thoughts of burning a teacher alive."

"Typical behavior of someone in need of anger management."

"Typical behavior of a psychopath. Worse yet, a deranged criminal."

"Did he give you anything else?"

"One name. Pedro Morales."

"Sounds like he wants to run to his mommy."

"I wouldn't make jokes about this, Frank. Not by a long shot."

Detectives Washington and Belker return to the station. Other officers briefly look at them while walking by. Belker remarks with happiness, "We were good. I didn't think it would work but we were a team."

"Yeah, babe. And if you were left alone, we would have never been able to make the deal."

Belker turns to him in confusion. "What are you talking about? We got it done. Remember? You and I?"

"I'd like to know what was going on through your head. Ice cream truck? We agreed that if J.D.'s name should come up during an assignment, that he died from a heart attack. _Nowhere_, _no how_ was it ever mentioned the ludicrous way you mentioned."

"I thought it sounded better."

"You did, did you?" Washington says in a perturbed tone. "Why didn't you just say he died from your onion breath?"

"Come on, Neal. What does it matter? We got the job done and quite frankly I'm proud of it."

"A Sunday, man? No art museum has a premiere on a Sunday night. Good thing I came in when I did."

"That was it? That was your sticking point?" Belker asks in dismay. "You went in because I said, Sunday? You're not going to tell me that we forgot to talk about it in the van. Nothing was ever mentioned."

"Don't you ever get out of the house, Belker?"

"I do. For pizza, or to catch a movie with my family. Okay. So, I don't know much about art. I do know that some of that stuff they call art, shouldn't be. And it goes for millions of dollars! That's what gets me."

They walk to the captain's office.

Furillo tries to reassure his wife. "Why don't you…" He spots the two men walking in. "Well talk about this later."

Washington then sees the captain's wife. "Oh, uh, sorry Ms. Davenport."

Belker looks over, nearly repeating his partner's words. "Yeah. Sorry Ms. Davenport."

Davenport turns to see the two detectives, Belker in particular and his unusual style of dress. "Fetching outfit you have on, detective. Undercover?"

Belker smiles before answering with regular graciousness. "Thank you, Ma'am. And, yes it is."

Her eyes turn to her husband's before she says, "Good day, gentlemen."

She leaves.

Furillo asks the two men, "What have you got?"

Washington says, "For starters, we got them. Like setting up cheese for a mouse. They took the bait."

"Names?"

"Oh yeah." Washington talks in a mock British accent. "Niles Westford." He shakes his head in disbelief, then switches back to his normal way of talking. "Sounded like he just came from the Shakespeare school. Everything but thee and thy in his vocabulary. No way was that real. I'm just trying to figure out where I've seen him."

Belker speaks up. "The other guy was a pretty boy blond Frenchman, and no, I'm not going to impersonate him either. Gilles DeGault. These guys are into art reproductions. They gave us a list the size of a menu on what to pick. When we started questioning them about things, they stopped the sale."

Washington then says, "Yeah, but they wanted us to continue tomorrow. Not at the gallery. Said to bring the money."

"How much?" Furillo asks.

"One point two."

"We'll get the decoy ready. Chances are they'll lead you to their base of operations. That's what we want. Mick, you had a wire, right?"

"Yeah."

"I want you both to have one. I don't want either of you to get off the radar if anything should happen. I'll have two officers stay behind you in close proximity. Oh, and don't ask anymore questions than you have. We don't want to lose them. Good work, fellas."

Belker says with pride, "I think we worked out well together. I actually had fun."

Furillo darts his eyes at Washington, who he can tell doesn't feel the same sentiment. "That's good, Mick."

Belker tries to keep his smile, but when looking back at Washington, knows better. He leaves the office in defeat.

Washington stays behind. "Uh, Captain. I don't know if I can truly handle Mick as a partner."

"He seems to think so."

"Yeah. I know. It's just that… Well, sometimes he just doesn't think before he says something. You know what that fool did? He tells those guys that J.D. was hit by an ice cream truck. I told him before. If we were ever to mention him during an assignment to say it was a heart attack."

Furillo tightens his mouth in understanding. "Is that your grievance? Other than the job you did?"

"I'd say that's about it."

"Neal, you can't let things like this get to you. You did your job. I'd say that the way LaRue was, even he would think your grievance is petty at best. I think he'd be quite honored that you would even mention him during one of your assignments. It's not what's said, but the fact it gets notice. Mick does things his own way. That's not going to change. He knows you're still hurting because he is too, but he's trying to make the best of everything. It's unusual for him to take on this type of assignment in the first place and on top of it, return and happily give notice the way he did. You both need each other, and I think more than ever, you need him. Once you're finished with this, I'll be sure to write a memo not to pair you two together. That's entirely up to you.

Washington looks down with guilt. "I understand, Captain. I'll work on separating my personal feelings from my professional ones. Thanks."

Belker looks at the steps ahead of him that lead downstairs. Washington calls him, "Hey, Belkah!" Belker turns to him. "Look man, I owe you an apology for the way I treated you earlier. It's just that I got these feeling's and it's still hard to deal with J.D. being gone."

Belker slowly smiles. "No problem. Apology accepted. Hey, I never had any reason to have a partner, but I understand. Lucy got on all of our cases when Joe was gunned down. It's just human nature to feel something when the guy you worked with isn't around anymore."

Washington bows his head down. "Yep. It hurts a lot." He lifts his head up. As he says positively, "What do you say we check out that book so we can pick the rest of those paintings tomorrow, partner?" He puts an arm around his shoulder.

Belker smiles back and taps Washington's back. "Yeah. I think I'd like that!"

They start to walk away together.

"Mick?" Robin Belker says aloud.

The two men turn around. Washington slips away to the coffee area, watching from a safe distance away.

Again, Robin slowly inches closer to her husband. "Mick, is that you?"

"Yeah. I think so."

Her jaw drops. "Oh wow."

Belker glances down, realizing she's talking about what he's wearing. "What? _This_?" He looks at her puzzled. Robin says nothing. She puts her hands on his shoulders. "It's for an assignment. That's all. An art gallery. Neal thought I should…look the part. W…why are you looking at me like that?"

"You…look…so…_hot_." She answers plainly, toying with his gold chain. "Did I ever tell you that sleazy business men turned me on? You know, while I was up in the Heights we got this guy, insurance salesman. Con artist. He was dressed so good. I just wanted to jump on him."

"You did?"

"But I really like… No. I really _love_ sleazy art dealers." She gets super close to him. "There's just something about a bad boy who knows how to dress." Robin gets close to his ear. She stops. "Is that cologne I smell?"

He sheepishly smiles at her. "Well…"

Robin throws her arms around his shoulders. "So…hot. _Smoldering_ hot." She reaches over for a long passionate kiss.

Washington still watches, shaking his head with a smile. He remarks to Officer Chen. "I think she approves."

She nods back in agreement.

Mick and Robin part their lips. She says, "You know, I came here to suggest we eat out tonight."

"Pizza?"

"Not exactly. I was thinking of fine wine and nicely cooked sirloin. That little Italian restaurant past Michigan Avenue. Mrs. Murphy's looking after Phillip for a little while." She digs two fingers under the open portion of his shirt. "Of course I can call up Mrs. Murphy and ask her if Philip can stay the rest of the night." Robin looks at Mick again, igniting her burning desire. "Oh, Mick. I want you right now so badly." Her fingers rummage deeper into his shirt. A bad boy dressed so good deserves to be stripped of everything he's wearing." She coos.

Mick feels caught off-guard. "Here?" He sputters. "Now?"

Robin says back, "_Right_ now." She leans against him, passionately kissing her embarrassed husband.

He pulls away. "Robin, not here. Everybody's watching."

"So? Let them. A little indecent exposure can't hurt."

Again, she draws him in for another lengthy kiss.

Furillo steps out of his office. A small smile crosses his lips. "Mick, you can go home now."

The captain goes back into his office. He turns more serious when he sees the notes from Chief Briscoe on his desk.


	6. Chapter 6

Lucy and Fabian carry groceries up to the apartment. An older man gives Lucy an unnerved look before shutting his door. A woman across the way darts her eyes, then wanders down the stairs. Fabian turns to look at the stairwell, then back at Lucy. She already has her eyes on the same thing. Quietly she ushers him inside. "Come on, Fabe." Locking the door, Fabian walks past her, into the kitchen. He places a paper bag full of groceries on the table. Glancing at her, he says, "Why do all of our neighbors look at us funny?"

Lucy is unable to come up with a good answer without embarrassing herself. Unable to look him in the eye, she keeps her sights down, pretending to rummage through a second bag of groceries. "It's not you, Fabe. It's me."

"They're lookin' at you? What for? You didn't do anything wrong."

"Can you take the other bag for me?" She asks quickly.

Fabian gives her a look, then a nod. He goes back to the kitchen. This gives Lucy enough time to think. He returns back to the living room.

"Fabe, there's something I need to tell you. First of all, I need to ask you a question."

"Yeah. Sure."

"Do I look…_fat_ to you?"

Fabian hesitantly answers, "N…no."

"Maybe that didn't sound right. Do I look like I've packed on a few extra pounds lately?"

"Now that you mention it, you have gotten a little fuller on that skinny frame." He sees her expression of discontent. A little worried, he asks, "Was that alright for me to say?"

Lucy gives a tight lipped smile. "Yeah. It's alright." With careful thought, she asks, "Remember that night a few months ago you stayed over at Corey's?"

"That was in the middle of March."

"And uh, you remember how I was trying to get you on the insurance policy with me?"

"Oh, that was Mr. Henderson. I could see you _really_ liked him." Fabian says while wiggling his brows in a teasing manner.

"Yeah. Well, I was supposed to have dinner with him and uh, he turned out to be a jerk instead. That's why I went over to somebody else to get the policy changed. But, uh, I ran into somebody else the same night. Somebody I used to work with."

"A cop?"

"Yeah. A cop. And uh, he sort of helped me out of my situation with Henderson."

"Let me guess. He already had a girlfriend."

Lucy glances down at the floor, nodding her head. "Yeah. He did." She looks back at Fabian, hoping he's following her story. "And this other guy…the cop, he uh, kind of rescued me."

"Knight in shining armor, huh?" He smiles in an understanding way.

"With a lot of dents and scratches." She adds with guilt. "You remember Neal, right?"

"Yeah. He took me to see the third _Indiana Jones_ movie last year."

"I don't know if you remember his former partner, J.D. You might have seen him when you visited the station some time. I'm not sure."

Fabian shakes his head. He thinks for a moment. "Oh, wait! Brown hair. Kinda tall, about your height?"

"Yeah. That's him. Well, it was J.D. who did the rescuing. And um, I was feeling a little lonely that same night." She puts her hands out. "He stayed with me." Frustrated at herself, she combs back her hair with a hand. "I think you're old enough to know about the birds and the bees."

"Sex?"

Lucy hesitates. "My point exactly. Look, Fabe. What I'm tryin' to tell you is… There's gonna be somebody else living with us before next year." She puts a head to her hand. "That doesn't sound right. I'm uh, eating for two." Nervously she says, "Fabe, I'm pregnant."

"I'm gonna have a baby brother or sister?"

"Fabe, please don't hate me for it. It's not something I planned. I figured with my age that I wouldn't have any. I was happy with just you. Ya know? Of all the people for me…"

He says in quiet awe. "I'm gonna be somebody's big brother."

Lucy looks at him apologetically. "You need time to digest whatev…" Suddenly, he catapults up, taking her by surprise with a big hug.

"I get a second chance. You saved my life from what I could've had. The best thing I can do to repay you is to not mess it up. I'll be the best big brother!" Then he thinks. "What about J.D.?"

Closing her eyes in grief, she shakes her head. "He was the one who passed away after that car accident I told you about. Who I was grieving for over a month. So, it looks like it's gonna be the three of us, kiddo."

"Did you love him?"

Lucy chooses her words cautiously, unable to deny it. "Uh,… Yes. I…I guess."

"You'll be okay though, right?" Fabian looks at her hopeful.

"Yeah. I'm okay. You're okay. We're okay." She says with a growing smile.

Fabian marvels at a thought. "Wow. I'm gonna get to be the man of the house."

"You sure are."

He hugs her again. "I love you…Ma."

Lucy holds onto him, beaming with pride between tears.

...

Frank begins undressing as soon as he enters the bedroom. Joyce sits up in bed, tucked part way with her glasses down as she figures out a crossword puzzle. He steps out of his pants. She shakes her head, staring at the curled newspaper. He crawls onto the bed, tucking himself in right beside her.

"I went to visit Warren today at his office."

"Uh-huh. Is he done with his honeymoon of newly becoming chief?"

"What he suggested surprised me." He looks at her. Clearly Joyce is far more interested in her crossword puzzle than listening to anything he has to say. "He thinks I should make Neal Washington a lieutenant."

Joyce answers looking back at him, "Doesn't an officer of the law need to be a sergeant first? Oh, and, what is a six letter word for the meaning of 'The threat of adverse events?'"

"Yes. The chief wants me to make Neal a sergeant, without taking an exam. Six letters? How about _injury_."

"Didn't you have enough playing politics with Fletcher Daniels?"

"I would say so."

"So, what's the problem?"

"I would have to do it to the detriment of another one of my officers." He looks at her. "He wants me to let go of Goldblume. Apparently, Sanchez from Midtown told Briscoe about what he said regarding the Corgan case. Also, Briscoe has come across Neal and likes what he's seen from him."

"The question is, since you're in charge, how do you feel?"

"I haven't made up my mind yet."

Joyce looks at the crossword puzzle again. "Injury is interesting, but I was thinking _danger_ would fit better." She drops the curled newspaper down on her lap. Pulling off her glasses she says, "Frank? I'm scared. I can't help but think about that Arturo Marquez and what he said earlier. The hatred in his eyes gave me the creeps."

Frank pulls her chin in his direction. "Don't let it. He's trying to intimidate you. These are the type of punks who try and get whatever they want by menacing others. They are just words. If they want to cause danger to anybody I care for, they're going to have to get past me."

Joyce gives him an uneasy smile. "Okay."

He kisses her. Then he thinks for a moment. "Joyce, how would you feel if I slicked my hair back, wore a half open shirt with gold chain?"

"Does this come with a pin striped suit?

"It could." He smiles back.

"I would have to say, I'd want the old Frank back. Or is this an evil twin, notably a mobster from Sicily who gorges down linguine?"

"Very possible."

"Uh-uh. I only want my pizza man."

Joyce leans over him. He reaches to shut off the light.

"Ow! I think you left the pen on the bed."

"That was a fingernail. You just ran into _my_ twin. She's a werewolf."

"Ow! Now what was that?"

"Her fangs which are better to bite with." Joyce hisses.

Frank says back in a seductive tone, "You animal."

They giggle in the dark.


End file.
